Page 45 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“Because I—“ He stopped abruptly.
“Because you're my best friend,” I finished for him. “Which is why you're perfect for this. You already know how to take care of me. And you have no idea how much I appreciate that. But I have to learn how to ask for it. How to be present for it instead of freezing up or performing what I think someone wants. Just like rugby, I need to practice the skills until they feel natural.”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“I don't know. Start small, like Tempest said? Eye contact. Hand holding. Maybe work up to... other things. Kissing. Touching.” I felt my face heat. “Just so I can practice being present and asking for what I need without the pressure of it being a real romantic situation.”
“Right. Practice.”
“We could start with something small,” I said suddenly, sitting up. “To see if we can even do this.”
“Now?” His voice cracked slightly.
“Tempest said to start with eye contact, right? That's pretty basic. We look at each other all the time.”
“We do?”
“Well, yeah. But she probably meant... sustained eye contact. Intentional.” I shifted to face him properly, tucking one leg under me. “Let's try it.”
“Artie, you're tipsy?—“
“I'm relaxed. There's a difference.” I reached out and took both his hands in mine. “Please? Just for, like, thirty seconds. If it's too weird, we stop and never speak of it again.”
He stared at our joined hands for a moment, then looked up at me. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I took a breath. “So we just... look at each other. Really look. No talking, no looking away.”
“For thirty seconds.”
I popped up the stopwatch timer on my phone. “Starting... now.”
Our eyes met, and immediately I understood why Tempest had suggested this. Looking at Gryff, really looking at him, was different from the casual eye contact of everyday conversation. His eyes were blue but with flecks of green I'd never noticed before, darkening to almost forest green around the edges.
Ten seconds in, and my heart was beating faster. There was something intense about being seen like this, about seeing him. Without words to fill the space, without the ability to look away, it felt like he could see straight through all my defenses.
Fifteen seconds. His pupils had dilated, making his eyes look darker. His thumbs were brushing over my knuckles, probably unconsciously. I could feel the warmth of his hands, slightly rough from football, but gentle in how they held mine.
Twenty seconds. The air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. I was hyperaware of everything, the sound of our breathing, the way his chest rose and fell, the fact that we'd moved closer without meaning to.
Twenty-five seconds. His gaze dropped to my lips for just a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. My breath caught. The room felt too warm. This was supposed to be practice, but it felt like?—
Thirty seconds and the chimes played on my phone.
Neither of us looked away.
We sat there, frozen, still holding hands, still maintaining that intense eye contact. The space between us had shrunk to almost nothing. I could feel his breath on my face. When had we gotten so close?
“Artie,” he said, his voice rough.
“Yeah?”
“The thirty seconds are up.”
“Oh.” But I didn't move back. Neither did he. “That was...”
“Intense.”
“Very intense.” My voice came out breathier than intended. “Is it supposed to feel like that?”
